I Don't Know What To Say
by Acheron Blake
Summary: What would happen if John never went after the demon, if Dean never went to Sam's house, if John never actually died? How would things be different?
1. Prologue

The evening was warm, with a hint of chill in the air. The house on the edge of town was foreboding and separate; nothing surrounding it but an open field dotted with trees and underbrush.

John Winchester was out by the Impala, his face a mask of fury as he listened to the voice on his cell phone. Dean Winchester was on the phone, trying to get an invite to Stacy Walter's house. Her parents were gone and her house was empty but for her.

Sam Winchester was in his room, pacing and fidgeting, nervous and apprehensive about what he had to do. An opened envelope and an unfolded letter lie on Sam's bed and he glanced at the letter every few minutes. It read:

Dear Samuel Winchester,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Stanford University. Enclosed within are your course list and your list of supplies. Classes begin in two weeks time and dorm applications must be sent in one week prior.

I am also pleased to inform you that the financial assistance you requested has been approved as well. As long as you maintain a GPA of 3.4 or higher all of your tuition and course fees will be paid for in full. Good luck Samuel. Hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Iblis Lucifer

Dean of Students

_What the hell am I going to do?_ Sam thought to himself as he looked towards Dean's locked door. _I know that I have to tell him, but he'll hate me for it._ Sam went to the bed, grabbed the acceptance letter, and made his way across the hall.

"Come on Stacy," Dean cajoled. "You have an empty house and a functioning hot tub. Much fun can be had." Giggles were heard over the phone line and Dean smiled to himself. _I'm in. I'm most definitely in_, he thought to himself as he adjusted his dick in his jeans.

"So, I'll swing by around nine―" A persistent knocking broke out on Dean's door and he groaned softly. Ignoring it, Dean turned his back and picked up the phone. Before he could put it back to his ear the knocking started up again. _Who the fuck is it?_ He swore silently as he stalked towards the door. Pulling it open he said, "I'm kind of busy right now. So if you could ―". He stopped his rant when he caught sight of Sam's creased and worried brow.

"Hey Sammy," Dean began. "What's up? Are you okay?" He tried to make his voice sound soothing but wasn't sure that it was working out. Sam was so preoccupied though, that he forgot to correct Dean and tell him to call him Sam.

Sam seemed poised to run away, one hand held behind his back and the other one gripping the doorjamb tightly. He balanced on the balls of his feet, turned half towards Dean and half towards the hallway.

"If you're busy I can come back later." He could tell by Sam's tone that he was trying to avoid something and would run off if given the slightest chance."

"It's cool Sammy. I always have time for you. Come on in." He visibly relaxed and unclenched himself all at once, following me as Dean re-entered his room. He paused in the doorway, looking for a place to sit while trying not to step on anything. CD's and their cases littered the floor haphazardly; car magazines were heaped into piles along the closet. Napkins and Post-Its with hastily scribbled names and numbers took up the desktop and AC/DC posters lined the walls.

"Sorry about the mess Sammy. I haven't had time to clean up."

"It's Sam," he said distractedly as he tried to make a space for himself. Sam finally swept things onto the already dirty floor and took the seat directly opposite me. The entire time his hand remained behind his back and Dean was starting to wonder why. He tried to catch Sam's gaze but it kept skirting away. Dean wanted to be annoyed but he knew that something was really bothering Sam and he wouldn't upset his brother like that.

Sam was antsy, adrenaline rushing through his body stimulating the fight or flight response. He accepted that he had to tell Dean, but he dreaded Dean's reaction to the news that he was leaving for college. Even though he was just going to college Dean wouldn't see it that way. He would see it as a major betrayal and probably do something drastic.

Dean was really getting worried now, seeing Sam's inner turmoil on his face. He wanted to reach out to Sam but didn't want to seem like a pussy. Chick flick moments were not his strong suit and emotional outbursts were completely foreign to him. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, ready to jump right in when he started to talk.

"I'm...I'm not really sure how to begin." Sam was so nervous that he had to stay still. His body thrummed with energy; the same kind of energy that he got while hunting. The kind of energy that gripped you hard and wouldn't let you go until either you came out dead or alive.

Dean snorted and dove in. "You didn't 'know' how to tell me you're psychic but you managed that well enough." Remembering how angry and upset Sam had been before finally blurting out his secret made him uneasy. It was rare to see him that unleashed and the hotel walls had quivered during his heated rant.

"Frankly I still think that you were being unreasonable. You could have just told Dad and me instead of hiding it for so long."

Sam laughed, loudly and harshly. "You've got to be kidding me Dean. You saw what Dad did to that guy in Phoenix who had uncontrolled pyrokinesis. He shot him execution style." Sam shivered in response to the memory and closed his eyes.

"I can still the guy, begging and pleading for his life. Do you remember how Dad replied, Dean? He said, "It's not me that's doomed you. The first time you used your power was the beginning of the end for you. I'm just the mortal instrument."

Sam shook his head as if to erase the memory. "After hearing his oh so rousing speech I was more than justified in my decision."

Dean wanted to argue, to defend John's choices, but he knew what Sam was talking about. John had a way of seeing black and white, and while that made him a damn good hunter, it didn't do much for his family life.

He taught them the same way that he hunted; without hesitation or pause; never thinking about the consequences. They were constantly at war and he expected us to act like it; constantly on guard and alert. And while it did keep them alive, it didn't do much for John's relationship with Sam.

Sam had always been the rebellious one; ignoring John's orders outright. John didn't mean to do it, but he had a one track mind. So, when Sam started to do his own thing he focused his attention on Dean. Dean was the perfect son and dutiful soldier always following orders. So, Dean became the favored son and warranted all the attention. And as a result, the rift between dad and Sam only got bigger and bigger over time; leaving Dean to mediate.

But no matter how much Dean wanted John and Sam to get along he didn't want their problems to affect his relationship with Sam.

"Sammy, whatever it is, I'm behind you. You know that I'll always be there for you, right?" Even as I said it I winced inside at the whiny, honey-sweet tone my voice had taken on. Sam on the other hand seemed to master whatever he was feeling and started to speak.

"Well, two days ago I got a letter and..."

"You got a letter two days ago and what?" Dean was really starting to worry now. "What's it say? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Everything's fine. It's nothing bad."

Sam brought the letter from around his back. It was crumpled and around the edges, as if it had been crushed between his tightly clenched hands.

"Actually, it's what I need to talk to you about. You see, I..."

"Samuel Jared Winchester," John bellowed from downstairs. "Come down here. NOW!" His anger-filled voice echoed against the walls of the long unused house.

Dean turned towards Sam and stared. Sam, on the other hand, was facing away from the door with a challenging defiant look in his eyes. He opened the door and walked down the stairs.

When Dean made his way down the hallway he saw Sam disappear around the corner. He hurried after his brother and quickly made his way to the living room. What he witnessed surprised him.

John was there, holding his cell phone in a white-knuckled grip and glaring broadswords at Sam. His other hand held the crushed remains of an official-looking letter in the other. Sam, however, looked worse for wear. His normally set and square shoulders were slumped in defeat and his head hung low.

"How could you do this, Sammy?" Dad voice was hard with emotion. "More importantly, why do this? Do you hate us that much, or is it just the job."

For once, Sam seemed at a loss for words. "It's...I...I'm just..."

"You're just what, Sam? You're just so tired of our life that you've decided to run away. You're so mad at me that you want to leave us."

John's voice kept growing louder and louder and Sam kept getting smaller and smaller. Dean must have made a sound because now John turned his attention to him.

"And Dean. Have you even told Dean, yet?"

Dean moved closer to face them and could see the stricken look on Sam's face when he saw Dean. John didn't miss the exchange and glared at Sam almost triumphantly as Sam guiltily lowered his eyes again.

"What haven't you told me, Sam?" Dean looked back and forth at John and Sam. "What is it?"

John started in surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you really didn't tell him Sammy? Well, he'll definitely be surprised when he finds out, huh?"

"Dad, please...don't..."

Dean had never heard Sam's voice quite like this before. He sounded so broken, so lost. Sam sounded defeated.

"Tell me, Sammy." Sam flinched when Dean spoke to him. Dean stared at Sam's bowed head, willing him to look up, but he didn't. Dean turned to John and stared at him expectantly. John didn't disappoint.

"Sammy here applied to college. Got into Stanford."

Dean could tell that John was just saying it to hurt him but it still worked. All Dean heard was Sammy and Stanford and he was off like a rocket. Turning to Sam, he blazed with anger.

"Is this true, Sammy? Are you going to Stanford?"

Still Sam refused to look up and Dean grew even more pissed. His hands curled into fists and before he could stop himself he lashed out. Fist met flesh and Sam fell to the floor, hand held to his face.

"Look at me you bastard. How could you keep this from me, Sammy? Huh? How could you not tell me something this important?"

Sam got back on his feet and rubbed the spot where Dean's fist had connected. He was angry now and looked Dean in the eyes.

"It wasn't like that Dean," Sam ran his hands through his hair jerkily. "I was going to tell you, but I... I..."

"You what, Sam?" Dean was angry, sure, but more than that he was hurt. Hurt that his Sammy hadn't come to him. That he had had to find out like that, from his father. Dean hated feeling like that. "You just woke up one day and said to yourself: Hey, I'm going to abandon my family and leave everything I know behind."

"I'm not abandoning you, Dean. I'm just going to college. Besides, I can come back and visit. There's always Christmas and..."

"Oh no, no you don't Sam," said John, suddenly back in the conversation again. "If you're going to go, then stay gone."

Sam flinched at the finality in John's tone and looked to Dean. He begged Dean with his eyes; to say something, anything to stop this from happening. Because Sam knew that if he left like this he could never come back.

"Dean," he entreated as he stepped closer. "I need you to understand. I..."

"Oh, I understand all right," Dean shouted as he interrupted Sam. "I understand perfectly." He looked Sam right in the eyes. "Get out."

Whatever Sam expected from Dean it wasn't that. He stared in shock as Dean opened the door and gestured toward it.

"Just go, Sam. Take the Chevy and just go."

Sam wanted to fight, to scream, to beg, but he didn't. He saw the set faces of Dean and John and headed upstairs. He grabbed two duffels from his closet and started tossing things into them. His clothes, his books, his weapons, they all went into the duffels.

Tears leaked out of the corners of Sam's eyes as he took one last look at his room. He swiped the tears away and took in a deep, shuddering breath. He squared his shoulder and went back down the stairs. He made his way past John and Dean, looking them both defiantly in the eye before leaving through the open door.

He popped the trunk and tossed his things in. He stalked over to the driver's side and got into the car. Buckling his seatbelt and turning the key in the ignition he peeled down the driveway.

As he turned onto the interstate Sam made a promise to himself:

_I'll never let myself be vulnerable again._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. 5 Years Gone Part One

"words": normal progression, dialogue.

_"words": inner thoughts, telepathy._

**"words": supernatural progression, dialogue**

* * *

Complete and utter silence greeted Dean as he made his way off of the trail and into the thick underbrush of the forest. The full moon hung in the sky, bright and clear, lighting the way for Dean as he crept through the woods, hunting for Max Jameson.

Jameson had been bitten by a werewolf six months ago and had been cutting a bloody swath through Maryland, D.C., and Virginia ever since. He'd even killed the two hunters that had gone after him, brutally ripping them apart and pulling out their insides.

Dean had finally tracked him down in Darnestown, near the Woodward Summer Camp for Kids. Thankfully, it was early spring and the camp was closed.

At first, Dean had hoped for a quick and easy kill but felt now that it would much more difficult. Jameson hadn't surrendered himself to the wolf like Dean had first thought. Which meant that he still had his human-level intelligence and reasoning skills.

Dean had just passed through another grove of trees when a howl ripped apart the quiet peace of the forest. He heard a rustling from behind him and saw a blur from the corner of his eyes. As he spun to face it he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to avoid it. Time seemed to slow as Dean hurried to bring up his silver dagger and Jameson lunged towards him, claws extended.

He managed to bring it up to chest height before Jameson slammed into him heavily, throwing Dean off his feet and onto his back. Claws sunk into Dean's sides and stuck there as Jameson whimpered in pain above him. Jameson had plunged himself onto the dagger accidentally, and the silver was burning its way through his system, forcing him to abandon his werewolf form. Blood poured over Dean's hand as he twisted and forced the dagger deeper into Jameson's stomach.

Jameson shuddered and thrashed about on top of Dean as his blood stopped pumping and his features changed back into the human he had once been.

Finally, Dean heaved Jameson's body off and to the side, the dagger sticking into his body. The body rolled limply and collapsed next to him. Dean panted and struggled to his feet.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and quickly scanned the area before sheathing his knife. Dean's sides twinged in pain and he winced. He could feel his shirt stick to his wounds and knew that he'd have to bandage them up soon. Either that or cut up a perfectly good shirt.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

The Impala roared down the I-95 at 3 am as Dean was making his way back to the run down motel he was currently staying in. He had managed to stop the bleeding and do a temporary patch up but it was only going to hold up for so long.

But as always, Dean tamped down his pain and focused on the open road and his next job.

Not that he had anything lined up just yet but he'd find something sooner or later. With that, Dean sang along to his favorite Metallica tape and sped down the empty street. He was halfway through "Creeping Death" when his phone blasted "Back in Black".

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket and answered it.

"Yeah?"

"Dean?" Vichit queried.

Vichit was an Asian hunter that had recently moved to the U.S. Cambodian in origin, Vichit excelled in breaking and entering and silent kills; which made him the go to guy for training and back-up.

Dean had met Vichit while hunting a Naga in Colorado. They had clashed at first but had become fast friends and teamed up on hunts from time to time. Dean hadn't heard from him in about two months. He wondered what Vichit wanted.

"Hey Jet. What's up?"

"Have you seen Logan? He never came back from his last hunt and his mom is getting worried?"

Logan was another hunter Dean had met while travelling. If you could call a barely legal Texan cowboy who had stumbled onto the supernatural after his father had been drained by a vampire a hunter.

Lorraine, Logan's mother, after learning about her son's reasons for dropping out of college, found out as much as she could about hunting and had taken it up herself. Dean knew she wasn't one to worry unnecessarily so if she had called Vichit there was probably something wrong.

"I haven't seen him since we cleared that nest out in Dallas two weeks ago. Did you call Pastor Jim?"

"That's the other thing," Vichit said, pausing to take a breath. "Pastor Jim is....."

But Vichit was interrupted as static blared through the phone, breaking up the call. Dean pulled the phone from his ear and held it in front of his face.

"Vichit. Jet, can you hear me?"

There was a muffled sounding groan and the crack of a skull hitting a hard surface.

"**You're next. Hunter."**

Dean could hear the rage-filled threat through the static and noise the phone was producing. He also knew that if he were to run the call through a Gold Wave he would find EVP on it.

The phone disconnected and Dean tossed it against the dash in frustration. _Damnit! What the hell was going on?_

First, Logan disappears and then Vichit. Obviously some asshole monster was going after hunters. He had to warn the others. His Dad who was unreachable, Bobby who was-

Dean was jarred as the car sharply bucked forward. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw a nondescript SUV riding his bumper. Dean flipped the driver and tried to move into the next lane. Dean grew pissed when he saw the SUV swerve to stay on his tail. His heart started pounding and adrenaline raced through his system, sharpening his reflexes and heightening his senses.

Dean honked his horn and gave the driver his salute again before stepping on the gas and speeding up. He soon lost sight of the car and took a calming breath, easing up on the gas.

He slowed down and his neck muscles stopped bulging. Dean readjusted his mirror and saw the same SUV come roaring down the road after him. Dean turned his eyes back to the road in time to see a little boy standing in the middle of the road. When the boy peered up at him through his lashes, Dean was so shocked that he spun the wheel harshly, sending the car into a tailspin.

Dean tried to bring the car back under control and gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened. His stomach turned as the car slammed into the railing. The seatbelt pressed so tightly against Dean's chest that it kept him seated as the Impala flipped over the railing and down the incline.

His head rapped painfully against the roof and his vision blurred. Dean felt the wounds on his sides reopen and his mouth filled with blood. Blood dripped into his eyes from a cut on his temple and he felt himself slipping further and further into unconsciousness.

"**You weren't supposed to kill him Abdiel. You know our orders are to capture them alive."**

"**I was just having a little fun, Babael. I know what the orders are. And besides, he's not dead. You know that better than I do."**

Dean could hear the conversation faintly but was unable to resist as he was violently yanked from his car and tossed unceremoniously onto the ground.

He felt the air shift as a shadow grew in front of him. He blinked slowly as he tried to focus his eyes but to no avail.

Dean felt the breath of one of his attackers on his bruised cheek before finally succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** **Finally a new chapter. A great big thanks to everyone who has stuck by me and this story. I know I haven't updated in over 7 months and I'm sorry for that. All I can say is: Blame. My. Muse. She's been on leave forever. But I'm back now and I promise that I will update more often. Of course more review would keep my muse fat and happy, which would help me update faster. Again, thank you all for reading. Please R&R!**


	3. 5 Years Gone Part Two

"words": normal progression, dialogue.

_"words": inner thoughts, telepathy._

**"words": supernatural progression, dialogue**

* * *

Yziel, demon of mysticism and magic, perched on a barstool and watched her as she made her way toward the bathrooms. He could see it rising above her skin in a fiery aura. Her power was potent and unrealized; which would make it all the more satisfying when he ripped it from her body along with her still beating heart.

Yziel hadn't always been so power hungry, he was content drifting through the ages, taking one soul here and another one decades, but with the sudden change in leadership demons were scrambling for a place in the new order and Yziel refused to be left behind. So he devised a rather clever plan that involved killing human psychics and stealing their energies, increasing his own power almost exponentially depending on the number he absorbed. But, it turned out to be much harder than it had been in previous years.

For, although there was no shortage of psychic ability in the human population in fact almost every human experienced it as a heightened sense of danger or the occasional flash of insight, finding victims with real strength was like searching for a needle in a large and widely spread out haystack.

But he had found that needle in Michelle Rivas. Her power glowed beneath her skin like a captive star, shining out and engulfing her in its embrace. From what he had gleaned from the mind of the meat sack he inhabited, he knew that Michelle was preternaturally persuasive and perceptive. It was probably a latent telepathic power paired with a form of empathic suggestion. It sure made her job as a federal agent a hell of a lot easier when she could get suspects and victims to open up and confess to her. It was also the reason why, at 25; she was the best interrogator in the department.

At first, Yziel had wanted to take his time with her. To follow her around for a week or two in order to make her more accustom to his presence. Her abilities, though untrained, would recognize him as a threat and that in turn would make her wary of him. But a call had been issued to all demons in the area to assemble and Yziel knew he needed to gather as much power as he could before answering.

So he came up with a new strategy. Inhabit one of her co-workers and use them to allay any instinctive fear she had of him. If everything went according to plan, by the end of the night he'd have enough power to claim a seat high up in the demonic food chain.

Distantly, Yziel could hear the screams of Mitchell Carter, a computer expert and the current body he inhabited. Yziel took great pleasure in keeping him awake during the planning and eventual murder. His tortured begging and desperate attempts to free himself made the inevitable conquest that much sweeter.

He signaled to the bartender and ordered her a rum and coke. H watched as she received the drink and waved her over when the bartender pointed him out. Her smile faltered a little and he could see confusion on her face as she peered at him. Yziel actually held his breath, waiting for her to decline his drink and leave.

He allowed himself a small smile when she waved back at him and took a sip from her glass; could practically feel the fire of her from across the bar.

And as she made her way over to him, Yziel felt a chill across the back of his neck and a voice whispering in his head.

"_There's always a bigger fish."_

Yziel spun around quickly, searching for who had so easily broken through his mental barriers and intruded on his thoughts. He saw nobody. There were a few patrons in the booths and one other guy at the bar. He sat at the far end, close to the door. He nursed a beer in his grasp and stared into it moodily. His long, brown hair fell across his face and into his eyes, obscuring him from full view. His long and lanky body was tightly folded against the counter.

In other words, he was utterly normal; not a spark of power to be had in him. None of the others besides Michelle did either. Maybe it was...

"Hey, Mitch. Fancy seeing you here."

Yziel turned away from his search and plastered a wide smile on his face. It was time. Time to finish her off and take in her essence. To make it his.

"**Michelle, I heard about your latest win. Great job getting the confession. You deserve to celebrate."**

Michelle beamed at him and raised her glass in a toast. Yziel smiled and reciprocated.

"To me," she declared, already slightly drunk.

"**To you,"** Yziel echoed; and over the rim of his glass his eyes turned black.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Hours later, Michelle stumbled out the door, stumbling and weaving, trying to maintain her balance.

She had stayed at the bar with Mitch for about half an hour, talking and catching up, until the college crowd arrived practically filling the building to capacity. It was then that the lights were dimmed and the music was blasted so loud it thumped in your chest and the floor became a mass of writhing bodies.

Michelle had excused herself from Mitch and enthusiastically threw herself into the throng of gyrating flesh. She laughed as hands slid over her body and cheered when one thoroughly inebriated patron bought a round for the house.

Her recollection of the next two hours or so was blurred into a flash of faces and impressions, no one thing completely clear. One thing that stood out in her mind though was Mitch. Mitch had stayed perched on the barstool, nursing his drink and occasionally striking up a conversation with the others around him. But every time she paused and glanced over he was watching her, he didn't even seem to blink, just watch her.

Something inside of her had told her to leave before it was too late and that was what she had done. And she regretted it every step of the way.

_I could've called a cab from inside, _Michelle groused to herself moodily. _Instead I'm stumbling around on a darkened street practically screaming 'helpless victim'._

She felt for the reassuring weight of her Browning 9mm against her inner thigh. Even though she was supposed to be relaxing Michelle never went anywhere without her off duty weapon; she had had to buy the holster from a specialty store because of its precarious position on her body.

She was so intent on her gun that she failed to notice when she turned a corner and ended up at a dead end. She looked around the dimly lit alley and couldn't see any doorways, just brick and trash.

She turned back to the street and gasped as she saw a figure step out of the shadows.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Yziel stepped out of the shadows and smirked at his target as she took an involuntary step backwards. It was always fun to inspire fear. Of course she thought he was her friend, and she couldn't see the ceremonial dagger concealed against his back.

He could see the struggle on her face as her instincts warred within her. She knew him, he was familiar but on the other hand, something was telling her to back away. He could see the indecision flood her features.

Yziel wanted to play with her a bit longer but he felt the forced call tightening its grip and knew he would be unable to resist its pull for much longer.

The grin on his face was menacing when he reached back and pulled the dagger out of its back sheath. He took another step forward, completely moving into the light. The sigils on his dagger seemed to catch the light and reflect it back darker than it was previously. The light on his face also brought attention to his cruel, sadistic smirk.

Yziel started towards her, holding the dagger loosely in his fist. She almost fell as she rapidly backed up to keep pace with his constant advancing. She fumbled under her shirt and Yziel laughed and walked all the more quickly.

She let out a gasp of release and brandished her gun at him, clearly expecting him to back away at the sight of it. He was able to take two additional steps before she released the safety and griped it tight with both hands.

"Stop or I'll shoot."

He could hear the tremble in her voice as her finger rested on the trigger. She was still a bit shaky from the alcohol in her system but she was unconsciously burning it from her blood stream and would only become more rational and prescient as the seconds ticked by.

"**You won't shoot me, Michelle," **Yziel mocked as he crowded closer and closer. **"So why don't you just put down the gu-"**

There were two loud pops that seemed to reverberate in the alley and Yziel felt the impact of the two bullets as one lodged in his heart and the other in his lung. Blood poured out of the wounds and heavily stained his white dress shirt.

Michelle looked horrified at the sight of his blood but kept the gun in her hands and her back pressed against the brick behind her.

When she noticed he was still standing she looked up at his face and just stared at him, shocked. She moved to bring up her gun again and he exploded into action. Grabbing her, Yziel forced her body into the brick wall, thumping her head against it and loosening her hands.

When he had kicked the gun away and brought the knife to her throat he could see her bleary eyes struggle to focus on him.

Once he had her sufficiently pinned he began running the blade across her skin. Starting with her forehead he slowly trailed the edge across her brow, down her face, and to her throat.

~**~**~**~**~

Michelle whimpered as the cold metal traveled over her face. Her head felt like it was wrapped in cotton and she couldn't focus enough to use the defensive techniques she was taught at Quantico.

Her heart pounded a mile a minute and she could barely hear over the sound of her own rushing blood. She stared into his eyes and was afraid. Why didn't he have any pupils? How was he able to shrug off a direct shot to the heart? His soulless eyes bored into hers and it was like she was naked, exposed and under a microscope.

The knife dragged down her shirt and cut it down the middle with one quick movement of his arm. She gasped as the knife slightly cut into her skin. She could feel the sensation of her blood seeping out of the fairly long cut. Strangely, the injury started to burn and itch, as if it were infected with bacteria or something.

She watched, oddly entranced as he brought the knife up to his mouth and proceeded to lap up the traces of her blood from its edge.

"**You taste so good, like sweet strawberries. Hope the rest of you tastes just as good."**

~**~**~**~**~

Yziel fairly moaned at the taste of power in her blood. It was heady and intoxicating and like whiskey it traced fire down your throat. He leaned in to lap directly from the wound when she screamed. His hand closed on her throat and her cries were chocked off as his fingers dug in sharply.

When she stopped struggling and started losing color in her lips, he decided to let her go. She sucked in air with great, heaving gasps which gave him time to poise the tip of his dagger directly above her heart. Yziel got her focus back to more important things by putting more and more pressure on the hilt until a small rivet of blood ran down her stomach.

"**Now, my dear, it's time to end this."**

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Yziel could smell the fear and pain rising off her skin and it only made her scent more inviting. Growling low in his throat, he answered.

"**Because you have power and I want it."**

Yziel paused for a moment to consider what he was doing. Surely he already had enough power. Did he really need to add hers to his collection? Indecision swam through his thoughts and before he realized it he had let her go and taken a few steps back.

He soon realized the reason behind his surprisingly hesitant behavior. _That little bitch. Thinks she can use her powers on me._

Yziel sprang forward again, determined to end it right away was frightened when he felt himself pushed away from her and pressed violently into the opposite wall. He struggled against the hold but he was held firm so Yziel turned his attention to who rather than He knew Michelle wasn't the least bit telekinetic so it couldn't be anything from her.

But he was surprised when the guy from the bar made his towards him. He was imposing, both physically and psychically. His presence forced itself into Yziel's system and he could feel himself losing his grip on the body. He tried to hold onto it but lost more and more control as the seconds.

"**Who are you? What's your name?" **Yziel was now in full panic mode as the stranger's power forced itself into his core, burning like holy water. He let out a grunt of pain and could see the man sneer at him.

"None of your concern; besides, you won't be around long enough to use it."

Surety rang in his voice and Yziel felt a scream of pain build up inside of his throat. The body started sweating and writhing against the brick. As Yziel's pain was expressed in the only way he'd allow.

"**If you exorcise me, it'll be the last thing you do. I'll escape again and then..."**

The man's laughter cut through Yziel's threat and Yziel quaked as he locked gazes with him.

"Who said anything about an exorcism?"

Yziel couldn't stop the scream from ripping through his throat as he felt himself being crushed inside the meat sack. The last thing he saw was Michelle, groggy but still very much alive as she moaned in pain, before he was snuffed out like a flame.

~**~**~**~**~

When Michelle reached consciousness again, she was in her bed at her house. She forced her eyes open and looked down at herself. She saw that all of her wounds were bandaged and she was wearing her fluffy bathrobe.

She heard the floorboard creak outside her door and panicked briefly before it opened and a man strode in. She had to crane her head back to look up at him he was so tall. His brown hair curled behind his ears and down the nape of his neck. His eyes were an odd green-grey color. She knew instantly that she was safe with him.

"How do you feel?"

She looked at him and then back down at the bandages. _Had he bandaged me up?_

"I'm fine, thanks." She suddenly had a flash of Mitch as he had her pressed against the alley wall and cut her with the knife he had. "How did I get away?"

"I saved you."

The way he said it, as if it were nothing made her burn with curiosity.

"How...?"

"It's better if you don't know."

He got up and was out the door in a flash. Michelle didn't know why but she didn't want him to just leave. She jumped out if bed to follow him.

When she got to her front door he already had it open and was starting out into the breaking dawn.

"Wait," she said as she caught up to him. He turned around and looked down into her face. "I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. I don't know exactly what you did but thanks."

She saw a brief smile flash over his face before it vanished. He turned once more to the door and stepped out down the stairs and onto the street. She then realized that she'd never gotten his name.

"Hey, what's your name?" She was slightly worried about waking her neighbors but shook it off. He stopped at the bottom of the stair and called over his should.

"It's Sam. Sam Winchester."

"My name's Michelle." It was impulsive but she felt the urge to return the name giving in kind so she told him.

"I know."

* * *

**A/N: Hooray! Finally an update. I am so sorry for taking so long. It's just beeen really hectic with finals and projects and family life. Please accept my himblest apologies. Please Read & Review if you can, just review if you can't. Thanks for sticking with me.**


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